What We Are Living For
by x.Mayhem.x
Summary: AU: Dean winds up at The Roadhouse with his brothers Adam and Sam; a night club on the verge of becoming a theater. He truly begins to find himself, but what does the Angel of Thursday and a rag-tag troupe of cancan dancers have to do with anything? DeanxCasxCrowley, some SamxGabriel and AdamxJo
1. Chapter 1

**This is what happens when I get all mushy and broody. **

**Or listen to the entire Moulin Rouge soundtrack and think of everyone's favourite Angel of the Lord as a cancan dancer. Though, it's very loosely based on the movie. Like, very loosely.**

_**Disclaimer (the only): Eric Kripke and the CW Network have all the rights to Supernatural. Baz Lurhmann owns Moulin Rouge. All songs used belong to their proper artists and labels. **_

"_There was a boy; a very strange enchanted boy. They say he wandered very far; very far, over land and sea. A little shy and sad of eye, but very wise was he. And then one day, one magic day, he passed my way. And while we spoke of many things- fools and kings- this he said to me: 'the greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love, and be loved in return…'"_

Dean crinkled his nose as he opened the door to his beloved Impala, only to hear the song blaring. "Really? I leave you two alone with my baby for five minutes, and you turn her into this?"

Sam and Adam quickly pointed at each other with the automatic response of "He did it!"

"What? No way!" Adam protested, leaning between the front seats from his spot in the back. "Bowie sucks."

"Glad to see I'm not the only one with taste." Dean muttered as he settled behind the wheel, popping the cassette out of the player and tossing out the window. "Sammy never caught on to the awesomeness of the Zeppelin."

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

"So where are we going anyway?" Adam asked, interrupting the good natured arguing that was happening.

Dean just smirked, pressing down on the accelerator and cruising down the stretch of road. "You'll see, boys. You'll see."

* * *

The Roadhouse.

Night club; dance hall. Owned by Ellen Harvelle, where the wandering and the lost went to play with the beautiful creatures of the night. But it was one- a man they called Angel of Thursday- that drew both men and women back night after night. A courtesan, whose love was for the highest bidder.

His name was Castiel Novak, and he was the star of the Roadhouse.

* * *

"I thought Dad warned us about this place."

Dean clenched his teeth, his grip turning deadly on the wheel. He remembered that conversation all too well- seeing as it was how he got himself disowned- but all he wanted was away from the family business; to be more than a mechanic like Adam, or constantly compared to Sam in Stanford. Sure, he had the brains if he tried, and he could rebuild his baby from next to nothing, but it wasn't his dream.

'_You're going to end up wastin' your life with some whore. Lust, greed, sin. Is that really what you want for yourself?' _

"Dean?"

"No, Sam, not us. _Me._ Because you're going to be a lawyer, and Adam is the picture-perfect son, and I… want to be someone else."

Adam leaned forward, elbows rested on the seats. "Hey, I'm only trying to be like him because he'll never love me the same way he loves you guys. I'm not Mary's son; he resents that."

The car went silent, with Dean staring out the windshield and Sam looking out his own window.

The youngest man shifted backwards and folded his hands together before he broke the tense silence. "I just want to feel wanted."

"Well, you do have two older brothers that are bringing you with us." Sam pointed out. "Blood is blood; your last name might not formally be Winchester, but trust me, you are our brother."

"Ditto."

"Thanks."

"Alright, so we're done with the chick flick moment? Because I'm pretty sure our cycles are going to sync up soon."

The Impala was no longer tense as it rolled into Bellevue, the Roadhouse waiting for the trio on the other side of town.


	2. Chapter 2

**Sorry this took so long! Sad thing is it was written when I posted the first chapter. Unfortunately, life got away from me and I've only just managed to edit it to my liking.**

**Thank you for all the reviews/alerts/favourites, I love them all!**

**Also, I'm looking for a Beta reader if there is anyone interested. Other than that, on with the show!**

_Disclaimer: As well as everything mentioned in the previous disclaimer, I also do not have any rights to the movie Burlesque, and all similarities are not being used for profit. Rather, more for my (and whoever else is reading's) enjoyment._

Nobody could ever say that Ellen Harvelle didn't know how to run her own business. True, The Roadhouse had been her late husband's pride and joy, but after his passing, she had taken the reins and run with it. She had a natural ability when it came to the business, and now that her daughter was old enough to help out with some of the behind-the-scenes mechanics, The Roadhouse was more successful than when it opened fifteen years ago.

Ellen, however, had never been particularly fond of dealing with people, and was quickly losing her patience when it came to her new investor.

"Mr Crowley-" she started, but was cut off when the man across from her raised his palm.

When he spoke, it was in a thick English accent. "Just Crowley will suffice. And these are my associates, Ms Meg Masters-" he gestured to a woman on his left, her blonde hair cut short and with brown eyes that made Ellen shudder for reasons she didn't know, "-and Azazel."

"Now that the pleasantries are out of the way, why don't we just get down to the reason you're here." Ellen said, her eyes focused solely on the man dressed entirely in black.

He grinned, crossing one leg over the other and clasping his hands together. "Of course. As I understand it, you wish to turn this bar into something resembling a theatre."

"That's right. And you'd be interested in funding it?"

"M'dear, I have always had a… shall I say, soft spot… for the creatures of the night. Now, I heard this is one of the best places in the state to find a creature to whet any man or woman's appetite."

Ellen felt her jaw set and teeth clench; while what was being said wasn't far from the truth, the manner in which it was being said made it feel sleazy and cheap. Still, she let the man continue and hoped he got to his point soon.

Crowley leaned forward. "I've heard of your writer, Chuck Shurley, and his work is quite extraordinary. His companions also have merit and have assisted here in some manner, yes?"

"Andy composes the music, and Pamela assists with the costumes." Ellen answered, patience dwindling. She had other things that needed to be looked after before they opened tonight, and though she knew Jo was capable of handling some of it, there were other tasks that needed to be looked after.

"Excellent. Then I will invest-"

"Thank you." Ellen started to rise from her seat, but was stopped when Crowley continued.

"If I like what I see tonight. Impress me, Mrs. Harvelle, and you'll have the means to turn your precious Roadhouse into a theatre."

Her heart stopped momentarily. It was little before noon, and they were set to open at ten. She had faith in her employees, but even for them, ten hours to prepare was a stretch.

'_What choice do I have?'_ she thought, rising completely from her chair and extending her hand.

"Deal."

* * *

Dean eased the Impala into the empty parking lot, shutting her down and climbing out. Sam and Adam followed suit, the latter letting out a low whistle as he looked up at The Roadhouse.

"So this is the place of carnal sin, lust and greed?" he asked, looking the exterior over. With it being on the outskirts of town, it had more property to span across. The main building was two stories but appeared wide and long. There was an apartment complex visible in the distance, and a pathway ran from the front of the complex, to the back of the main building.

"No, this is the place the three of you are gonna get your butts kicked if you keep talking like that."

Immediately, the trio looked over to find a petite blonde striding over, her long hair bouncing behind her.

Sam put his hands up in surrender. "It wasn't meant like that. Our father-"

She stopped in front of them, arms crossed and looking them over when she spoke. "Let me guess. He told you that it was nothing more than a whorehouse, that it had no class and that it only bred sin and corruption?"

"More or less." Dean nodded.

"And you three are here to see if he's right?"

The three brothers shook their heads, letting out a "No, ma'am" in unison.

She rolled her eyes and tossed her hair over her shoulder. "Well, good 'cause it's not like that. Sure, we take in the strays, but they come to us. We give them a chance and find a place for them, whether it's as a dancer, bartender, bouncer, or dishwasher. They have a choice to leave any time they want; nobody is here against their will."

"Have any room for three more strays?" Adam asked, still wary that the woman would follow through on her threat.

Sam quickly corrected him with "Two strays; I'm just here for support."

"Sure you are. But follow me, I'll see what my mom has room for."

* * *

"Create two new numbers in five hours? Ellen, even for me, that's a bit ridiculous."

Internally, Ellen couldn't help but agree with the young writer. But she kept on her no-nonsense mask. "I know, Chuck. And you know I wouldn't have asked you if it wasn't absolutely necessary. But we both know that an actual theatre was what Will wanted."

Chuck sighed, dragging a hand over his face. "Do I get any assistance, besides Andy?"

Just as she was going to say she had nobody to spare, Jo walked in and was quickly followed by three men.

"Who are they?" she asked, Chuck's question left unanswered.

"Dean."

"Adam."

"Sam."

"Strays, for the most part, and looking for work."

Ellen shook her head. "Sorry boys, but we really don't have the room-"

"Adam and Dean, was it?" Chuck walked over to them, smiling. "I think I could use these two."

"Suit yourself. Just remember, you've only got five hours." Ellen agreed with a sigh, mostly just to get everyone out of her office.

"And I'll take this one-" Jo grabbed Sam's forearm, "-and see if Gabriel can use him."

"Alright. Now, can we get this show on the road?"

With that, everyone left the office and for the first time that morning, Ellen felt a small sense of relief. She had her doubts and concerns when it came to Crowley and his associates, but the new arrivals seemed alright, despite the fact that she hadn't talked to them. Though Jo had, and her daughter was a pretty good judge of character.

She ignored the small, nagging feeling in the back of her mind and set out of some paperwork.

* * *

Chuck lead the way into his apartment- one of the fifty that housed the hired help- having explained along the way what it was specifically that he did.

"They aren't so much musicals, as much as numbers. At least twice a week, there are new numbers written to keep the audience entertained and coming back to The Roadhouse. Andrew- well, Andy- he comes up with the music part of it. I just write the words. Whatever I feel fits."

Both brothers nodded in understanding. "But then, why do you need us?"

"It wasn't Ellen- the woman that was in the office- who started this. Her husband had, and had wanted eventually to turn it into a theater. Like with real shows. But he was killed before that could happen, and for a while it was difficult just to keep it afloat. Eventually, Ellen got it to where it is now, which is more burlesque than anything. There's an investor interested in funding the transformation, but only if he's impressed tonight."

"Tonight?" Adam questioned, cocking an eyebrow.

"Yeah, tonight. And two new numbers are needed. I know where one is going, simply because without him, there would be no Roadhouse at the moment. But you-" Chuck pointed at Adam, who immediately froze like a deer caught in headlights, "-you're young. Barely twenty, I'm guessing."

"Twenty-two in February."

"Young, then. You'd be good for the show. If you can sing and dance, that is."

Dean smirked, clapping Adam's back. "He was Kenickie in Lawrence's community production of Grease."

Chuck smiled and clapped his hands, while Adam glared at Dean. "Well, that's good news and him being here will help while we write."

"We?" Dean asked, eyebrows lowering as he gestured between himself and the dark haired writer. "What do you mean, we?"

It was Adam's turn to laugh. "Dean? Write a song? Oh, that's hilarious. Sam would love this."

Dean tensed up, a mixture of nerves and his father's voice getting to him. How could he write anything when he had no faith in himself? When everything he knew and thought to be true was what his dad had told him?

"_End up wasting your life with some cancan dancer. There's no such thing as beauty and love when it comes to those… creatures, Dean."_

"I can't. I'm sorry but I can't."

He turned and went for the door, ready to find Sam and get the hell out of dodge, but the writer was persistent.

"Can't, or won't?"

Dean froze, hand on the door knob.

"Hear me out, and then if you still want to leave, I won't stop you." Chuck was calm when he spoke, not demanding or controlling, but simply looking to be heard. "I was never a songwriter until I came to this place. I wrote novels, had a few published, but I was broke with no place to go. Couldn't sing, and I have two left feet when it comes to dancing. William- Ellen's husband- was willing to give me a shot. 'Write me a song,' he said. 'Something to get the crowd warmed up.' I was scared, but guess what? I did, and while it was awful, it showed him I was willing to try."

Dean dropped his hand and turned around, finding two pairs of blue eyes staring at him. "I _can't_. You said it yourself: the fate of the Roadhouse is based on what this guy thinks of tonight."

"Which is why I'm going to help you. The first thing you need to know is that everything is composed of four ideals: freedom, beauty, truth, and love."

And though his mind still screamed at him to run, especially at the mention of the L word, the eldest Winchester couldn't help but to be drawn in by the enthusiasm that the writer had. That's how he found himself with a pad of paper and a pen, writing and crossing out and rewriting what would in the end be Adam's song.


End file.
